09 February 2013

waiting for the weld to hold it was supposed to be a stanza unfiltered language loose hipped and bourbon rich leaning on a wall paint flaking onto its shoulders like rain like old September like Nancy when she cracked her skull against the wall

Sasebo

handing off the baton

the wall sighed and stuck between her teeth it became her even the air vents cackled into the

sweaty breath of Peri Peri Chicken Dreams or DreamZ as the sign said in slow lazy neon tattooing

light into rusty drainpipes moss on their lips

Saga

letting go of gone

dripping the sweat of twenty bathrooms into one small metal square in the ground with half a

peppermint pressed into the grooves she was propaganda she was every corner

Kumamoto

beginning to give

she became it’s bricks and mortar as if she was nothing or a part of everything people died in

alleyways people had always died in alleyways but she became the alleyway she became the trash

can the tarmac the drainpipe the graffiti

Minamata

you

your open hand behind you

the piss the cigarette butt the fox at 4am she was a wasteland watching restaurants close The Slow